


Self Reflection

by JaceReeal



Series: Nick kills a bitch [2]
Category: The Chronicles of Nick - Sherrilyn Kenyon
Genre: Implied/Referenced Murder, alot of blood most of the paragraphs are just describing blood, also memory loss? nick cant remember if he killed the body or not, and blood, i think i got it all but if i missed a tag let me know please, no actual descriptions of the murder but detailed writing about the corpse, theres no killing in the fic. but again the dead body is described in detail, yeah theres a dead body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaceReeal/pseuds/JaceReeal
Summary: Did he kill him?Oh god he couldn’t remember. Surely not. Surely fucking not. Killing someone seemed like something he’d remember. Right?_________________________________Or where Nick 'wakes up' over a dead body.
Series: Nick kills a bitch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201517
Kudos: 2





	Self Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Tags, Tags, Tags. Read the tags before reading!

He was staring at blood. So much blood, it dripped between his fingers and stained his skin. It was thick and hot. Fresh. In horror, he watched as the puddle under his clenched hands grew. 

A man lay in front of him, on his front. The back of his neck was torn, blood poured like honey from his wounds, covering the floor with it. 

He scrambled back, kicking the floor. He slipped on the blood trying to stand, falling onto the wet blood, making his hands sticky. He hurriedly stood up, breathing heavy, his knees shaky. Wiping his hands on his pants he took quick steps back. Desperate to leave the body. Streaks of red smearing his clothes.

Oh god, oh god.

He was going to be sick, oh god. The colour was a dark cherry, deep in colour. The air was bitter in scent, the smell of copper clouded his senses, his mouth felt like he had gurgled the liquid, his throat coated in the metallic taste.

The body looked worse now that he was further. Able to see the whole scene. The hair was matted with blood, and the limbs were bent at awkward angles. There were gashes on the man’s back and arms. One arm was completely snapped backwards, he could see bone jutting out from the man’s elbow. He stared in horror at where skin met bone, blood sticking in clumps to the ripped flesh.

The blood covered the room, splattered on the walls and collecting on the floor in puddles. _There was so much of it._ The body and floor had been slippery with the hot blood. His own clothes were covered with it, wet and red. He ripped his shirt off, throwing it away from the body, away from him, skin crawling in discomfort, his chest sticky.

Why was he covered in the man's blood? Who was the man? Did he kill the man?

_Did he kill the man?_

Oh god. 

He turned hastily to puke, his insides heaving. Clutching at his stomach as he spat out thick bile, coloured red. His vision blurred.

He slowly leaned up, level with the wall, shaking. His hands trembling. Turning so the body was completely behind him, he wiped his mouth. Then stopped.

There was a mirror in front of him. Floor to ceiling, as wide across the wall. If he were to place his left-hand flat on one side and reach out with his right, he’d reach the other edge of the mirror. 

He stared in shock.

Reflected back were gold eyes, dark hair, and red-black skin. On his back stretched out long thick leather-like wings. 

He was the Malachai. 

He reached out a hand and the demon reflected in the mirror did the same. Every inch of him was splattered with dark red blood. Sticking his clothes to his skin, the red stains blending into the colour. His chest heaved, covered in quickly drying blood.

Why was he in his demon form?

Oh god.

He squeezed his eyes shut, staggering back, oh good god what the fuck was happening. Did he do it? Was he the reason the man was dead, neck torn and limbs broken?? He must be, he must be.

How? There was no weapon. No dagger or sword. 

He was the weapon, noticing the red between his nails, the taste in his mouth, the way the gashes had been torn and jagged. Why? Why did he do it? Did he do it? 

He turned around shakily, towards the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The body was dressed in a black simple tee and jeans that were little more than rags, ripped and loosely hanging off the corpse. His dark-coloured hair clumped with blood, tall but thin, incredibly thin, not a man but a boy. 

_A boy._

That realization caused him to squeeze his eyes together again, taking steps back automatically. His bare back hitting the cold mirror, wings tightly coiled together. A kid. Not a man. The room was silent only his rapid breathing filling the quiet. Did he know the boy? Why did he kill him?? 

Did he kill him? 

Oh god he couldn’t remember. Surely not. Surely fucking not. Killing someone seemed like something he’d remember. Right?

But why else would he be here? Covered in the boy’s blood, no weapons in sight, in his demon form??

Oh good god. He did. He did, didn’t he?? He killed this boy and now he was dripping with his blood. He did this. Why? Why the fuck would he kill someone. 

Did he know him? Why was the body so familiar, like an old friend? It reminded him of someone. He wasn’t sure who. Who was it? 

Who did he kill?

Dazed he stepped closer again. Consumed with the need to know the face of the person he killed.

He leaned down, trying not to gag at the sight of the mangled corpse, nudging the kid’s head over, trying to see the face, hands shaking uncontrollably. 

Locks of dark hair covered the face, the entire left side coated in red blood, the kid's eyes stared at the ceiling, glazed. The left eye was swollen shut. It didn’t matter though. 

The kid had blue eyes, the kid had blue fucking eyes?

Pushing the hair back and wiping the blood off the face he forced the left eye open. Trying to confirm what he knew, hoping it was false, desperately scratching at the swelling before roughly prying the eyelid back. 

Blue lifeless eyes stared at him from a familiar face. 

_His face._

The kid was him. 

He was the kid.

Nick screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> tips? thoughts? hope you liked it


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